Just Peachy
by livjo33
Summary: On this hunt, nothing is going right for Dean
1. Chapter 1

AN: Constructive criticism is appreciated. All mistakes are my own.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Everything belongs to the creators of Supernatural.

 **Just Peachy**

It had been a long couple of days. Sam and Dean had come to the town for a routine salt-and-burn. However, Peter McArthy had a serious anger management issue and a nasty habit of throwing people into things.

The search through Peter's old house had been a disaster from the start. The floor was falling out and the steps were rotted through. In the light of day, it wouldn't have been difficult to navigate around the unsteady floor, but in the dead of the night with only the moon and two weak flashlight beams to guide them, the journey was much more perilous. Sam had only suggested going to the house to try and find record of where Peter was buried and was now regretting his decision.

"Dean," Sam hissed in low voice. He winced as the floorboards creaked under his brother's quickly shifting weight. The whole house was moaning and gave the appearance that a stiff wind could blow the whole thing over.

Dean was facing him now. His eyebrows were drawn close together and his mouth was pursed. The gun clasped tightly in his hand was brought up ever so slightly and his eyes flicked quickly back and forth, obviously anticipating danger. "What?"

Sam took another glance around the ramshackle house. "Maybe we should come back. This place is falling apart." The house let out a loud creak as if to agree with him.

Dean's look of concentrated deadliness was swiftly replaced by one of annoyance and the gun was lowered again. "Oh come on, Sam! First you drag me out here in the freaking middle of the night to look for papers so we can burn a dead guy and now you want to leave because an old house is making funny noises? We're already here so we are at least gonna check it out, okay?"

He saw Dean's point and nodded slowly. A huff of air passed Dean's lips as he rolled his eyes and turned away from Sam. Immediately, the air temperature dropped and Sam saw his breath crystallize in front of him. The spirit of Peter McArthy materialized behind Dean, bony hands reaching toward his neck.

"Dean!" the cry ripped through his throat and he brought his gun up, but was hesitant to shoot in fear of hitting Dean.

Before he could consider the pros and cons of firing the gun filled with rock salt, Dean had dropped to the floor. He landed in a crouch and spun, bringing up his own gun to shoot the spirit. However, to Sam's horror, the floor chose that moment to give up, and with a tremendous crack, it fell, taking Dean with it.

"Dean!" Sam screamed again, his focus on the hole his brother had just disappeared into. His attention was drawn away by Peter McArthy turning to face him, a sick looking smile lighting up his features. Without hesitation, Sam brought up the gun and fired two rounds into the spirit. The sound of the gunshots and Peter's unearthly scream echoed through the house as the spirit dissipated.

Sam waited for a moment in silence, making sure Peter wouldn't be back soon, and then turned back to the broken floorboards. Every instinct screamed for him to run over and see how badly Dean was hurt, but logic held him back. He knew the rest of the floor was still unsteady, so he forced himself to take slow steps, testing the floor carefully before setting his weight down. Blood roared through his ears, acutely aware that there had been no sound from Dean since he fell.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Sam reached the break in the floorboards. Taking another swift look around to ensure Peter wasn't making another surprise appearance, he slowly bent down and angled his flashlight beam into the depths of the basement.

The light cut through the inky darkness, illuminating the amount of wreckage left behind when the floor caved in. Even with the help from the flashlight, there was no sign of Dean.

"Dean?" Sam called. He strained his eyes, trying to find a sign that his brother was alive. A moment later, a small groan cut through the silence. Directly under Sam, a small patch of rubble shifted and revealed the bottom half of Dean. "Dean!"

More rubble fell away as Dean slowly sat up. "Sammy?" his voice sounded more than a little disoriented. Sam watched as Dean raised a hand to hold his head and slowly turned to examine his surroundings. Then, he looked up. He appeared startled to see Sam looking down at him. "The hell happened?"

A small burst of relieved laughter escaped Sam at Dean's words. They were so Dean-like that Sam knew nothing too serious could be wrong with him.

"The floor collapsed beneath you!" Sam shouted down. "Are you hurt?"

Dean winced and fixed Sam with a glare. "Jesus, Sammy, I'm fine but if you keep screaming I might burst an eardrum."

Sam flushed, annoyed with himself. He and Dean were only separated by a couple feet of open air. He should have realized Dean would hear him fine if he spoke regularly, but adrenaline and far were still pumping through his veins, causing the volume of his voice to rise. His mind raced as he tried to think of a way to get his brother up. The floor boards were too rotted to pull him up even if he had a rope. "Dean," he called down, more softly this time. "Do you see stairs?"

He saw Dean whip his head around but abruptly stop, his eyes closing. Opening them a moment later, he scanned the room again, more slowly this time. Dean looked back at him. "There's some that way," he pointed to his right. "I'm coming up." With that, he stood shakily and started shuffling.

"Dean, wait!" Sam shouted. "You shouldn't be walking!" His cries fell on deaf ears though, as Dean resolutely ignored him. "Stupid idiot. If he could just listen for once," Sam grumbled to himself as he headed in the direction Dean indicated to find the entrance of the basement.

Sam found the door after carefully tiptoeing around rotted and weak floorboards. He opened it and found Dean standing at the bottom. He looked pale and a sheen of sweat glistened on his face. "Jesus, Dean."

Dean looked up, determination lighting his eyes. "D-don't need help, Sam," he gritted out. "You-you stay right there."

Sam felt anger heating in the pit of his stomach. Why couldn't Dean admit he needed help? He crossed his arms and watched as Dean slowly lifted his right foot to the first step.

The anger Sam felt abated after watching Dean struggle up the first two steps. Enough was enough. He took a step down, ready to help Dean regardless of what his older brother said. "Dean-" he started, but froze when Peter McArthy's spirit appeared directly behind Dean.

AN: So that's the first chapter and if you guys review saying you like it, I'll put up new ones. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thank you to everyone who reviewed or favorited this story. It meant a lot to me. This chapter will hopefully explain a little more what's going on, at least with the ghost.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the creators of Supernatural

Terror shot through Sam when he saw the spirit appear within striking distance of Dean for the second time in half an hour. Sam's mind went back to everything he knew about Peter McArthy.

Newspaper articles and police reports had painted a grim picture of the man before his death. Peter McArthy had been a serial killer, a smart one. He researched his victims diligently, picking the perfect time and place for the murder. He was a strong man and his preferred method of murder was by breaking the victim's neck and then bringing the body home to be discovered by a loved one. The police could never find evidence, or even a crime scene, and Peter had terrorized the town for years.

Then one night, Peter made a mistake. Too much alcohol and not enough planning prevented a young woman from having her neck snapped. This particular woman carried a gun, one to protect herself against Peter and other lowlifes like him, and was a good shot. Peter was killed in an alleyway behind Billy's Bar at 10:48 PM on July 26, 1982. The town was so disgusted with the man that there hadn't been a funeral for him. The city had buried him in an unmarked grave with no fanfare and no record of where he'd been buried.

When Peter's spirit had suddenly become restless two years ago, he had gone back to what he enjoyed most, killing people. This time, however, Peter liked to play with his victims first. This usually entailed a great deal of throwing his victims into things such as large pieces of furniture, walls, and even occasionally the ceiling. By the time Peter was done, the victim was in so much pain from numerous broken bones that having their necks snapped was almost a blessing. Almost.

All that knowledge and those facts gave no comfort to Sam as he watched the spirit reach for his brother. He knew Dean could take his licks with the best of them. Dean could push away his pain and keep fighting until his body was literally at the breaking point. However, his brother had been through enough when the floor fell out from underneath him and being slammed into various objects would do him no favors.

Before Sam could utter a word of warning to his unsuspecting and struggling brother, Peter wrapped his icy hands around Dean's shoulders and flung him. Sam's heart clenched as Dean smacked into a wall and fell with a dull thud. His heart stopped all together when he didn't move after that.

Peter advanced on Dean once again, malicious glee painted on his face. Sam didn't know if the spirit intended to throw Dean around some more or simply end it there, but Sam didn't wait to find out. He raised his gun and again let hot lead and rock salt pump through the spirit.

As Peter disappeared once again, Sam ran to his brother. When he reached Dean, he bent down. His hands hovered over Dean. He didn't want to discover the awful truth if it was there for him to find and didn't want to hurt Dean if he was still alive.

Dean was very still, a stark contrast to how his brother usually was. Dean liked to be in constant motion. Whether it was bouncing his leg while watching TV, or pacing back and forth while Sam researched information for their latest hunt, or even tapping his fingers on the steering wheel of his baby to the rhythm of an 80s rock song, he was constantly in motion. Even while he slept he was never completely still so this stillness unnerved Sam. It was too reminiscent of about a month ago when Dean lay hurt after saving two kids. Where in a hospital Sam was told his brother's damaged heart would only continue to beat for another month.

Before his depressing thoughts could get any further, a pained groan startled him out of them. Dean shifted, one arm went to wrap around his ribs and one went to cradle his head. "Sam?" came the breathless question.

"Dean?" relief washed over his body. Dean was alive! He saw Dean struggle to sit up and quickly placed a steadying hand on his back to help him up. Sam gently propped him up against the wall and studied Dean's face. A small cut had opened up above his right eyebrow but wouldn't require stitches. From the way Dean was holding his head, Sam figured there was probably a moderate concussion. Most likely he had cracked some ribs after his collision with the unforgiving wall. "You okay?" Sam asked after a minute.

"Nothing I can't handle," Dean replied gruffly. "So if you can stop your freaky staring act, we should probably get out of here before that fugly comes back." With those words, Dean started to push himself painfully off the ground.

Sam quickly grabbed his brother's arm and helped him the rest of the way up. Once Dean was standing, though, he quickly shrugged off Sam's hand. "Get off me," he muttered and shuffled at snail's pace to the stairs. However, Sam wasn't deterred so easily and gripped his brother again, tightening one arm around Dean's waist. Dean looked indignant and opened his mouth to protest. Sam cut him off.

"Listen. If you wanna get out of this house before Peter can come back to take another shot at you, we have to move faster than a snail stuck in mud. And that means you have to let me help you. So stop acting like a stubborn ass and walk."

Dean hesitated for a heartbeat longer, and Sam was worried his words had had no effect on his bull-headed older brother. After a moment, though, Dean nodded. Sam sighed in relief and helped maneuver his older brother up the stairs.

They reached the top of the stairs and slowly picked their way through the unsteady house. Sam was watching with a weary eye, aware their slow pace and injured member made them more vulnerable if Peter came back for more. Dean was also tense at his side, most likely the same thought running through his head. However, they made it past the front door and to the Impala without further incident.

"That's weird," Sam commented out loud. "Why didn't he try to stop us?"

"It's a good thing, geek boy," Dean answered. "Don't over think it. You might jinx us." Despite Dean's confident words, Sam knew his brother was feeling the same unease with the lack of attack.

Deciding to ponder it later, Sam turned back to the Impala. He looked at Dean and held his hand out. There was no way he was letting Dean drive in his condition. Dean fixed him with a flinty glare but dug the keys out of his pocket and handed them over regardless. Sam settled Dean gently in the passenger seat and walked over to the driver's side himself.

The ride back to the motel was short but silent. They pulled up outside their room just ten minutes after leaving McArthy's house. Once inside, Sam sat Dean down on his bed to start checking for injuries. He quickly located a large bump on the back of Dean's head, the likely source of the headache and concussion. Next, he had Dean pull his shirt off to get a better look at his ribs. Sam was sure Dean made some crude comment about at least buying him dinner first, but Sam's sole focus was worrying over Dean's injuries. He'd seen the result of McArthy's other victims and it wasn't ever pretty. Granted, it hadn't gotten that far with Dean, but Sam wasn't going to take any chances.

Dean's whole right side was black with bruises, and when Sam pressed, the ribs underneath creaked slightly causing Dean to groan in protest. "You probably cracked a couple ribs," Sam said.

"Yeah, I coulda told you that," Dean hissed.

"I'll wrap them for you," Sam started rummaging through their first aid kit.

"Ah, Sammy?" Sam looked up.

"Yeah?"

"Think you could help me with these, too?" Dean held out both hands. Sam had to hold in a gasp of dismay when he saw them. Imbedded in each palm were small slivers of wood. He looked up at Dean who shrugged as a slight grin played at his lips. "Tried to break my fall."

After securely wrapping Dean's ribs, Sam spent the next hour picking the slices of wood from his brother's hands and then liberally dousing them in peroxide and wrapping them snuggly. When he was all alone, Dean grunted something that probably was a 'thank you' and lay down on the bed. Sam nudged him. "You should really shower, Dean."

"I'll shower in the morning," he grumbled and flipped over, turning away from Sam.

Sam left his brother alone and went to shower himself. He stood under the water for several long minutes, letting the warmth ease the stress from the night. When he was done, he walked out and saw Dean still deeply asleep on his bed, and since the concussion had been mild, Sam decided he could stay that way instead of dealing with a grumpy Dean. He flopped down on the other bed and glanced at the clock which now blinked the time 4:49 AM. Lying down, he resolved to get up no earlier than 10 and promptly fell asleep.

AN: Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Sorry for the long wait to anyone who might still be following the progress of this story.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the creators of Supernatural

Sam awoke with a low groan. The events from last night were communicated through his slightly protesting muscles and a faint headache. He slowly rolled over to face the clock and his older brother. The glowing numbers read 8:28, far earlier than when he had planned to get up when he had gone to bed.

Glancing over at the bed beyond the clock, Sam saw Dean's still sleeping form laying in the bed. It was rare for Dean to be asleep later than him, not that Sam slept all day. Dean's instinct to protect Sam, which had been ingrained into him since evil and a fire took their mother, dictated that he be the first one up in order to identify and eliminate any evil before it could hurt Sam. The only time Dean slept in was if he was hurt, sick, or recovering from a long night of drowning his memories and sorrows in the bottom of a glass.

When Sam did get the chance to see Dean asleep, it was an odd experience. In all of Sam's life he could remember Dean looking as though he had a terrible burden to carry. Even when he was small, it looked like Dean had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Hard lines were etched into his face, carved there by the constant need to be alert and ready to protect his family from danger. That all changed when Dean was asleep. The lines smoothed out and his face looked almost peaceful. It made him appear a great deal younger and gave Sam insight as to what his brother could have been if tragedy and hunting hadn't plowed through their lives.

Sam was so lost in thought, he hadn't noticed that Dean had woken up and that he was still staring at his brother while his thoughts had wandered.

"You know, Sam," Dean's voice still groggy from sleep penetrated his thoughts. "If it was anyone else but you was staring at me while I slept, I would be seriously weirded out. But you are a little freaky so I guess I'll roll with it."

Sam shook off his thoughts that had been heading in a depressing direction and focused again on his brother. Dean's face was once again hardened and he seemed to have aged a hundred years in a few minutes. As Dean slowly hauled himself into an upright position, small grimaces of pain marred his face even farther. Sam pulled back the covers and stood, then walked over to help Dean. He placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, ready to help Dean stand up the rest of the way, when it was batted away by Dean.

"Knock it off," Dean grumbled. "I can stand up by myself."

Sam put up both hands in surrender and backed away, bringing his arms down to fold them across his chest. Dean's stubborn pride wouldn't allow him to except help if the situation wasn't desperate. However, Sam wasn't prepared to let Dean's stubborn pride cause his already hurting older brother to further injure himself by falling. Sam watched carefully in case he needed to catch his brother.

Dean managed to get himself into a semi-upright condition, although his right arm gently curled around his middle and he was slightly hunched over in order to protect his aching ribs. He flashed Sam a cocky grin and then bent down and hooked his other arm through the strap on his duffle bag. Slowly, he made his way to the bathroom door.

"What do you think you are doing?" Sam demanded.

"What does it look like? I'm taking a shower, relax Sammy."

Sam frowned as he took stock of Dean's condition. In addition to his cracked ribs and concussion, Dean's hands were still tightly bound. "You can't take a shower like that."

"Not my first rodeo," Dean's biting reply came back. "I think I can handle myself just fine little brother. This is not the worst I've ever looked coming off a hunt. Not the worst you've looked either."

Sam knew that Dean was telling the truth. They had both had far worse in their years of hunting down evil with their father. In fact, Dean's injuries barely got a notable mention in the list of Winchester Scrapes Over the Years. However, this scrape had rocked Sam harder than one had in a while and he couldn't understand why.

Dean was standing at the shower entrance staring at Sam. His brother had a concerned look on his face. "You okay, Sammy?"

Suddenly, Sam knew why these injuries were causing him to worry over his brother so much. Seeing Dean standing in another doorway, looking too pale and hunched over with a fake cocky grin plastered over his face brought forward unwanted memories from a month ago. Dean had only had a month to live and had showed up in the doorway of that motel looking in about the same shape as he did right now. Nausea rushed through Sam as the feelings from that week rushed back. The fear of losing his brother just as potent now as it had been a month ago. Sam had an overwhelming need to sit down.

"Sam?" He looked up into his brother's face, which had grown more concerned. Sam mentally shook himself.

"Yeah. Just go shower and we can look a little more into McArthy after you get done."

Dean still looked concerned and a little confused but nodded. "Alright," he turned to go into the bathroom but looked back. "You sure you're alright?"

Sam nodded. "Just go take your shower. You stink."

Dean realized the attempt to reroute the conversation. "Only because someone didn't let me shower last night."

"You were the one that got taken down by one lousy spirit."

"Hey! This guy was a professional killer! And a house fell on me!"

"Because you moved too fast!"

"I was trying to defend myself and it was an awesome roll and crouch move. You're jealous of me, admit it."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

The bathroom door slammed shut just as Sam's well aimed duffle bag smacked against it. He could hear Dean's low chuckling from inside the bathroom and smiled. He just had to remind himself that Dean was alive and well and not going anywhere for as long as he could help it. Retrieving his bag, he settled down on his bed and opened his computer, digging into something that had bothered him since last night. Why hadn't Peter McArthy finished the job back at the house?

AN: Please review and tell me what you thought! I know there wasn't much going on in this chapter but I thought they deserved a break.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed, or favorited this story so far. It means the world to me!

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the creators of Supernatural

Twenty minutes after Dean had entered the shower and Sam had begun researching further into Peter McArthy's spirit, he had come up with nothing. Going through old town records hadn't helped at all. There were plenty of articles on Peter but they were all printed about his reign of terror and his own death. Nothing was printed about his personal life or anything but his time as a killer. Sam had been lucky to stumble across the location of his house earlier in his research, but nothing else gave any clues as to why the spirit had given in so easily the night before.

Dean emerged from the shower in a cloud of steam, fully clothed in jeans and a black t-shirt but hair still wet. He went to his bed and set down his duffle bag before casting around for the remote to turn on the small TV. Not finding it anywhere on either of the beds, he took to scanning the rest of the room.

"Anything, Sammy?" Dean asked with his head under Sam's bed, one hand still protecting his ribs.

"Nothing," Sam replied. He pulled his hands through his hair roughly, sending the long strands in every direction. "Not a mention of family or a birthday or even pictures from when he was younger. They have plenty of articles on his killings and death but I can't find one personal detail."

Sam turned to face his brother and had to hold back a laugh. His macho older brother who spit in the face of evil and then killed it was being beaten by a TV remote. Dean was covered in dust, and other things that Sam didn't want to think about, from scrounging around under the beds. His hair was going all directions, but not in the deliberate way he did it most days. Currently, he was standing in between the two beds with a frustrated look on his face. It wasn't often that Sam saw Dean truly baffled, but this time was definitely making his morning.

Dean raised his head to look at Sam. "Well, maybe we're looking in the wrong place."

"What do you mean?"

Dean looked down at himself, seeming to notice for the first time that he had become dirty so soon after he had showered. He gave his shirt a half-hearted brush in an attempt to remove some of the dust and then sat down on his bed. "So spirits are tied to something, something is always keeping them here."

"Yeah, but we didn't get a chance to look further in the house because you fell through the floor. And his spirit still showed up there so he has to be tied to the house. Why do you think we are looking in the wrong place?"

Dean sat down carefully on the end of his bed, staring at the blank TV screen. His face was so morose for a second Sam felt bad in finding humor in his brother's misfortune. After sitting for several seconds, Dean lifted his head so that he was looking at Sam. "What if Peter McArthy is tied to more than one place?"

Sam drew his eyebrows together in confusion. "Is that even possible? I mean, have you ever heard of something like that happening before?"

Dean shrugged. "I haven't ever run into it before, but I don't see why it couldn't be possible. What if some of Peter's blood was left in the alley where he died so he's tied to that. But there is also a favorite jacket or something at his house that he's also tied to. It's possible that he could be haunting both places."

Sitting back in the chair, Sam contemplated Dean's reasoning. It wasn't impossible that a spirit could be haunting two separate locations, especially if it was pissed off enough or it's tie to the two objects was incredibly strong. Sam always found himself surprised at moments like these. All his life, Sam had had other people, including his brother, find him as the "smart one" of the duo. He liked reading and had always preferred to do the research part of the hunt rather than the actual hunt. For as far back as he could remember, Sam was the brains and Dean was the brawn. However, there were times that Sam was reminded that he wasn't the only brother with intelligence. For four years, Dean had had to do the researching on his own after Sam had gone to college and Dad had gone off the deep end. This had left Dean more than able to research his own hunt. Dean did like to play down his intelligence, though, as he had always done. That's why it left Sam so shell-shocked that Dean had come up with a possible lead on this challenging hunt.

"Maybe you're on to something, Dean," Sam said and turned back to his computer. "It would explain the attacks in the alley and also the random "accidents" that have been reported at the house these past couple years. You think McArthy is causing them both?"

Dean shrugged, but was quickly halted as his face pinched in pain at the movement. "Makes sense to me."

Sam hardly heard the response as he started researching again. Now that they had new ideas, there were some different angles that he could dig into that he hadn't thought of before. He was going to recheck the morgue results again to see if he could find any personal items that he might have overlooked before. He'd also look more into the house, see if anyone in the accident reports had stated something of interest. Now that they thought something might be tying the spirit to both places he'd have to check the house more thoroughly.

While Sam started researching again, Dean had gently laid himself back on the bed, staring at the ceiling since his search for the remote had reaped no results. Taking pity on his brother, Sam picked it up from beside his computer and tossed it onto the bed next to Dean, careful to hitting Dean for fear of causing more injuries. Dean's hand flashed out and grabbed the remote, then sat up and stared at Sam.

Sam's head nodded slightly to the now empty spot next to the computer. "It was sitting there the whole time." He looked up, a smirk tugging the corners of his mouth up. "And you call yourself a hunter."

A harsh rush of air pushed between Dean's lips at the comment but no witty retort was offered back. The room was filled with silence for several minutes, only the soft sound of the bed springs creaking interrupted the quiet. Suddenly, with a flurry of cursing, the remote went flying across the room and bounced off the bathroom door, the fact that it didn't break was a salute to it's resistance. Sam glanced up sharply at his brother who was now breathing heavily and looking down at his hands. Slowly, Dean's gaze rose to meet Sam's. When Dean saw the puzzlement in the youngest Winchester's eyes, he simply held up the hand that wasn't wrapped around his ribs and said, "Can't push the buttons with these damn bandages covering my hands."

Laughter filled the room for the next five minutes as Sam held his sides and felt tears gather in his eyes. It felt good to have a moment, even if it was only fleeting, where he could simply let go and laugh at his brother's obvious disgruntlement. However, like all good things, it wouldn't last long.

AN: I have no idea if a spirit haunting two places is even possible, but it works for this story so I'm using creative freedom here. Please review and tell me what you thought!


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed or followed this story. I hope I'm doing well enough to keep you interested!

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the creators of Supernatural.

"Dean," Sam looked over at his brother. The TV droned on in the background, the channel switched to some 80s monster movie that Dean loved to mock. However, Dean wasn't watching the movie. Sometime in the last two hours that Sam had spent re-researching everything about Peter McArthy, Dean had fallen asleep on the bed. Sam was reluctant to wake Dean. After the night that they had had, Sam knew that Dean deserved every minute of sleep he could manage, but what Sam had just dug up warranted his brother's immediate attention.

"Dean," Sam said again, slightly louder this time. "Dean!"

Shooting up in bed, Dean's gaze shifted wildly across the room, trying to identify the danger that had pulled him from his healing sleep. Dean's sweep of the room was interrupted, though, when the pain from his concussion and cracked ribs registered. The pain folded Dean in half, one arm curling around his ribs while the other went to cradle his head. Gasping breaths pulled from Dean's lips as he sat, trying to control the pain throbbing through his body.

Sam quickly hauled himself to Dean's side, berating himself the entire time. He had lived with Dean for long enough that he should have known that in Dean's sleep, Sam yelling at him would have registered as danger. Carefully he sat down next to Dean, slowly reaching towards Dean's arm in an attempt to ground him and distract him from the pain.

"Hey, just breathe. Easy, Dean. It's just me." Sam talked to Dean in a low voice, hoping to get through to Dean.

Sam could feel the tense muscles in Dean's arm quivering as they strained against the pain. Guilt pulsed through Sam's system at causing Dean this pain, however unintentional it might have been. He sat with Dean for a few minutes, waiting for his older brother to get the pain back under control.

"Damn," Dean finally whispered a few minutes later. "That sucked."

"You okay now?" Sam looked at Dean, trying to read his eyes to decipher if his brother was really okay.

Dean just nodded and slowly ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. After studying the carpet for several long moments, he looked up at Sam again. "So, what's going on?"

Sam was confused for a minute before he remembered that he had woken Dean up for a reason. "Oh, right." He stood up and walked back to the table to grab his laptop, then wandered to his bed and settled down on it. Reopening the laptop, he pulled up the document he had been on before he'd woken up Dean. "So apparently someone did end up claiming Peter's body, but they put in the paper that they'd buried him in an unmarked grave. I guess they didn't want to upset the locals."

Dean's eyes widened slightly. "Who claimed the body then?"

"It doesn't say," Sam's eyes scanned the official town record.

"So you're telling me," Dean's right hand attempted to smooth the lines out on his forehead. "That Peter isn't actually buried in the unmarked grave, which would have been difficult enough, but that he was claimed by some mystery person so we don't have a clue where he might be."

When put that way, it did sound pretty hopeless. Reluctantly, Sam nodded.

Dean sighed. "Great. That's just great." He slowly lowered himself back onto the bed with a groan.

Both brothers settled back into the same positions they had been in a few minutes ago. Dean slowly drifted back into an uneasy sleep and Sam resumed research, determined to discover who had claimed the serial killer's body.

Two hours later found the brothers knocking on the door of Ms. Katherine Warren. The woman that answered the door was old and frail looking, a slightly hunched back and silvery-gray hair giving away just how old she was. However, despite her age, she didn't have that welcoming grandmothery look that so many women her age seemed to have. Instead, she looked upon the young men in suits on her doorstep with obvious distrust. "What do you want?"

"Ma'am," Sam and Dean held up their badges in unison. "We're here from the FBI to look into an old case and we heard you might know something about it."

"I don't know anything," the woman said and began to close the door in their faces. Sam put his hand out to stop it.

"Please, just a few questions and we'll be out of your hair."

Reluctantly, she opened the door and came out onto the porch, shutting the door behind her. "What is it you think that I know?"

"What do you know about Peter McArthy?" Dean asked, pulling out a notepad.

Katherine snorted, "Everyone knows about McArthy. He was the man that killed all those people all those years back. But he was shot in an alleyway." She glared up at them. "Why do you want to know about him now?"

Dean and Sam shared a glance. "Some new details came up."

"We found out that he wasn't actually buried in that unmarked grave on the outskirts of the cemetery," Sam added.

For just a moment, Katherine seemed thrown and slightly panicked. However, she quickly rearranged her face into the cool indifference that it had been the whole time. "So? Why does this concern me?"

Sam pulled a document from the depths of his suit jacket. "We also know that you're the one who claimed his body."

Katherine's face drained of all color. The old woman slumped, and Sam was afraid she would pass out but Dean caught her and lowered her into the rickety chair that sat on the old porch. "No one was supposed to know," she was muttering. "They promised me no one would ever know."

"Who told you no one would ever know?" Sam asked, leaning down next to the distraught woman.

She looked up with tears in her eyes. "The police. The police promised they'd tell everyone that they had buried him in some unmarked grave to satisfy the rest of the town. They didn't want angry townspeople coming after me."

Dean crouched down next to his younger brother and Katherine. His damaged ribs prevented him from moving too quickly or leaning in too far. "No disrespect, but why would you want a serial killer's body? Didn't you hate him as much as anyone else in town?"

Katherine turned to face Dean, tears now rolling freely down her face. "Well, I might not have liked him, but a mother never loses her love for her only child. No matter what he does."

Sam looked at Dean and found his brother looking as confused as he felt. "Mother?" Sam asked. "But you have different last names. And wouldn't everyone in town know who you were anyways?"

Katherine shook her head. "Peter wasn't born in this town. I lived in Jonestown, Colorado until twenty-three years ago, but Peter moved here in 1976. I never knew he was a killer, but who does before it happens? I heard about what he was doing on the news. All my old neighbors and friends shunned me. They hated me or were afraid of me. I couldn't live with it anymore. So I moved. Didn't tell anyone where I was going. Changed my name so no one could connect me to him. I settled down in Maine. And I was happy. Until I heard the news about Peter's death. I know he had done horrible, unforgivable things, but I couldn't let my son rot in a place that no one knew the boy he had once been, and I came here. I claimed his body and the police promised to continue to let people believe that they had buried Peter in an unmarked grave in the cemetery. To protect me. And now they know." Her withered hands covered her face, her body slightly trembling with fear.

In a rare display of gentleness, Dean placed his right hand on her knee. Katherine's head came up, her old eyes catching Dean's bright green ones. "I promise you. We are the only ones who know and we aren't going to tell anyone. No one is going to hurt you. You're safe." Slowly, Katherine nodded, her hands reaching up to wipe away the few tears that had escaped. "We do have to ask you a question, though. Where is your son buried?"

AN: I have no idea if there really is a Jonestown, Colorado. If there is it's a complete coincidence! Please review to give me feedback and let me know if I'm doing well enough to keep you interested!


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Thanks for the wonderful reviews on the last chapter and the follows and favorites. They really make my day when I see them!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Everything belongs to the creators of Supernatural.

The night was silent. Most of the town's population was safely tucked in their beds, believing things that lurked in the shadows and serial killers that came back from the grave to continue killing were stuff that belonged in nightmares and the horror genre of TV and movies. However, two young men that were the exception were still awake, one pounding a shovel into hard ground while the other kept watch with a rifle loaded with rock salt.

"Dude," Sam's voice came between pants of exertion. "I can't believe you gave that old lady your number."

Dean scoffed. "I gave it to her in case she needed someone to call. She's scared that a bunch of pissed off townspeople are going to come after her." He looked down into the hole that Sam was digging. "Besides, you're just ticked that an old lady found me more charming than you and your kicked puppy look this one time."

Tossing down the shovel and leaning against the side of the grave that he was digging, or re-digging that is, Sam looked up at his older brother and grinned. "You know that you get twitchy if you don't hand out your number to at least one woman in every town we hit."

"Not true." Dean smiled. "They give me theirs."

Sam shook his head and sighed. Sometimes living with his older brother was close to living with a 6'1'' toddler. Easily excitable and annoyingly adorable to the female gender. However, Sam also knew that that was just the surface of Dean Winchester. What most people saw, even the few that were close to him, was mostly a charade. Only Sam could count himself lucky enough to have seen into Dean's soul. Sam had seen Dean shed tears over him, or their father, after a hunt had left one of them in the hospital. He'd seen his older brother clutching a terrified child to his chest, determined to defend an innocent against the terrors of the night that he had battled his whole life. And he had also seen the brokenness inside his brother, the fear of never being good enough, of failing his family. Somewhere deep inside Dean was still a scared little boy, and Sam vowed to keep that little boy safe no matter what.

"Hey," fingers snapped in front of his face. "Would you mind refocusing on the task at hand, Dream Boy?"

"Huh?"

"You totally zoned out there, for like, two minutes," Dean glanced around. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather be out of here before old Pete catches wind of what we're doing."

It had turned out that Katherine had buried Peter at his house under an old oak tree that graced the front yard. She didn't want to bury him in a place marked with a headstone, her and the town agreed on that, but she did want a way to somehow recognize the place her son was buried. This only served to make it ten times harder for the brothers to retrieve the body with all the roots in the way.

"You know," Sam wiped at the sweat that was beading on his brow. "If you think I'm going so slow, how about you jump in and lend a hand."

Dean looked at Sam very seriously and brought his left hand to his ribs. "Sam, you know I can't risk putting more strain on my ribs. I'd hate to hurt myself worse." The serious look quickly melted into the familiar smirk that Dean always wore when he was screwing with his younger brother.

Sam rolled his eyes. Sure, his brother could be bleeding out and still insist on hunting down a wendigo armed only with a knife and a book of matches, but give him a few cracked ribs and a concussion with a grave to dig and Dean was suddenly unable to lift a shovel. It wasn't that Sam believed that Dean should be digging a grave in the middle of the night, especially given the fact his hands were still wrapped to protect the wounds from the splinters and that his ribs were still mending, but it was occasionally exhausting to try and keep up with his brother's way of thinking. Also, Sam knew that Dean would never admit it, but with a spirit that was causing as much pain and death as Peter, Dean felt better in the role of protector than the one being protected, no matter what his injuries.

Reluctantly, Sam picked up his shovel once again. He stared down into the hole that was now about five feet deep. With one foot left to go and only one person working, it was still looking like they'd be out here at least another forty-five minutes. Heaving a sigh to remind Dean just how hard he was working, Sam pierced the shovel blade into the soft black dirt once again.

Another half hour went by before the atmosphere began to change. The night was clear but warm, comfortable for sitting around but sweat had made Sam's shirt cling to his back. That's what made it so easy to tell when the temperature began to drop. With the new chill in the air, Sam started to shiver. Any other person might pass it off as fall coming in early this year, or a freak weather change, one that was welcome after a long summer, but Sam wasn't like other people. And neither was Dean.

Without even looking up, Sam knew that Dean was now on high alert, watching for the spirit that he had tangled with only the night before, waiting for it to make it's appearance. Sam's muscles automatically screamed with the instinct to watch his brother's back, because even though Dean might claim that it's only an older brother thing, Sam felt it too. But for right now, the best thing he could do for his older brother was finish digging the grave so they could burn the bones. Dirt was shoveled up with a greater sense of urgency now.

A shotgun blast interrupted Sam's work. Sam's head shot up and he looked at his brother. "What? Where was it?"

Dean shrugged the gun in the general direction of the house, his gaze never leaving the front door. "He was just standing there in the doorway. He was looking right at me."

Chills ran down Sam's spine at Dean's statement. This didn't feel right. Suddenly, Peter was changing the game, and spirits didn't do that. Peter had always been a very aggressive spirit. He attacked his victims relentlessly and never gave them a chance. He didn't enjoy the game of cat-and-mouse like some spirits did. So why was Peter holding back now?

"Well Jesus, Sammy. Don't stop digging now." Dean risked a quick glance down at his brother. "In fact, it would make me feel a little better if you dug a little faster so we can toast the guy and get the hell out of here."

Dean's words sparked Sam back into action. Five minutes later, his shovel hit something solid. With one powerful swing, he splintered open the box that had housed the serial killer. Pulling himself out of the grave, Sam brought out the salt, gasoline, and matches that both brothers kept handy and quickly lit the bones. Standing back, the brothers watched the body being reduced to ash. Peter never made a reappearance.

Back at the motel room, Dean was pacing the back and forth. "I don't get it. I can't figure this out."

Sam was sitting on his bed with his laptop open on his lap. "Which part?"

"This whole damn case!" Dean shouted and opened his arms widely. Pain quickly registered across his face, however, and he lowered his arms back to his sides. "Peter saw us, obviously, but he didn't try to stop us even once. No spirit wants to have their remains toasted and he has the juice to throw us around, he's proved that much." His arm wrapped around his ribs. "Besides, what started this whole thing in the first place? Nobody touched his bones, the house hasn't been lived in for years. Something isn't fitting together." He sat down on the bed across from Sam.

"I think I know what it is." Sam's head rose to look at Dean. He turned his laptop around so Dean could see the article pulled up on his screen.

Dean's eyes moved quickly as he skimmed through the page. "So some volunteers cleaned up some alleyways?" He looked at Sam. "So what?"

"Look at what alleyways they cleaned," Sam answered, nodding to the two-year-old article again. It was obvious the moment that it dawned on his brother.

"They cleaned behind Billy's Bar."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, and so I was thinking that since we thought that Peter had two haunting grounds since attacks were happening around the bar and his house that maybe one of the volunteers accidently moved something or uncovered something of Peter's in that alleyway that woke him up."

Dean was reading the article more thoroughly this time. "And that's why he wasn't worried about us burning his bones. Because he has something else tethering him to the bar. That's where most of the attacks occurred anyways." He ran a hand through his short, spikey hair, standing it on end even more. "But it could have been anything. Hair, a tooth, even a smidge of blood. How are we supposed to find out what some volunteer messed with?"

"Well," Sam pointed to the number at the bottom of the article. It belonged to a Mr. Rhett Burgsrum, head of the volunteer committee. "I guess we just have to ask the right people."

"So, you boys are here from the newspaper?" the young man stood up from the desk and shook both brothers' hands. He was probably in his late twenties and looked fairly athletic. Just the kind of great guy that one would expect to be the head of a volunteer committee that also worked as the small-time lawyer that protected the people living in the town.

Sam cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. We're writing an article about city clean-ups that are going on all around here."

Mr. Burgsrum sat back down again at his desk. "Well I hate to disappoint you boys but the last time we had a clean-up around here was about two years ago."

"That's alright," Dean quickly jumped in. "Just tell us about the last time you did have a clean-up." Sam and Dean both sat down in the chairs that sat in front of Mr. Burgsrum's desk.

"Okay, then," Rhett leaned forward. "We sent out a group of volunteers around the town to pick up some of the back alleyways. Just to kinda make the city look like a nicer place."

Sam opened a notepad and pulled out a pencil, playing the part of an interested reporter. "Did you find anything interesting while cleaning any of the alleys?"

The man looked confused and leant back again. "Why would you want to know that?"

"Just filler for the article," Dean jumped in quickly. "The people always love weird stuff like that."

"Ah," Rhett's face was guarded for another few seconds, but quickly relaxed. "Let me think. Ah, yeah, I guess one of the volunteers did find something kind of special in one of the alleys."

The brothers' interest was piqued. "Which alley was it?" Sam asked.

"The one behind Billy's Bar."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, then looked back at the lawyer. "What did they find?"

"Uh," Rhett looked thoughtful. "It was a locket of some sort, or something. It didn't seem that valuable, though."

Sam's thoughts raced. Call it hunter's instinct, or spidey sense as Dean said, but he knew that this was the piece that they need to get rid of Peter McArthy forever. "Do you know what the volunteer did with it?"

Rhett shrugged. "I already told you it didn't look valuable, but it did look like it could have some sentimental value to someone. So she turned it into the police to see if they could find the owners. As far as I know, no one ever claimed it."

Sam was pretty sure he had an idea who had the locket, and looking at Dean, his brother was thinking the same thing. Both brothers stood up and went to leave the office. "Thanks a lot for your help," Dean said to Rhett as they were leaving.

"But, wait," Rhett's voice floated behind them. "Don't you need anything else?"

"Nope, we've got everything that we need." Dean turned around and gave the man a tight smile. "You've been a big help. Look for the article soon." And then they walked out into the sunlight.

The brothers sat in the Impala and looked at each other. "So, we're pretty sure that Peter's mom is the one with the locket, right?" Dean asked.

"I'd say it's a good place to start."

Dean flipped the ignition just as his phone began to ring. This was an odd occurrence since so few people had his number, and the one most likely to call him was sitting in the passenger seat next to him. He looked down at the unfamiliar number and opened his phone to answer the call. "Hello?"

"Hello? Agent Walsh? This is Ms. Katherine Warren. We, uh, we met the other day," came a small voice on the other end of the line.

"Oh, yes. Ms. Warren. Of course," Sam gave Dean an odd look. Why would Peter's mother be calling them now? "Is there something I can help you with?"

A quivering breath could be heard through the phone, "It's just, you said I could call if I needed anything."

Dean sat up straighter in his seat as he heard the fear in Katherine's voice. "Ms. Warren, is something wrong."

"It's just," she paused. "I have the strangest feeling that someone is watching me. It's been going on since early this morning. I tried to pass it off as nothing, but it's really been bothering me."

The Impala was thrown into gear, and Dean whipped out of the small parking lot. "Just wait right where you are, Ms. Warren. We'll be right there." With that, Dean hung up the phone and turned to face Sam. "She said she's felt like she's been watched this whole day."

"So?" Sam asked. "She's probably just paranoid about the town finding out about her being related to Peter, especially since she knows that someone else knows." He didn't understand why Dean looked so worried.

Dean nodded. "That's what I would have thought, too. Except she said it started early this morning." He looked at Sam. "You know what happened this morning?"

Sam sat back as understanding dawned on him. "We burned Peter's bones."

"And what do you want to bet that he's guarding the thing that is keeping him here." Dean asked as he broke the town's speed limit to get to Katherine's house as soon as possible.

Sam felt his heart rate speed up. Either Peter was protecting his last remains, or he was going after his mother to draw the brothers back out, especially since Dean seemed to have taken a shine to her. Regardless, Katherine Warren was about to be caught in the middle of a fight that wasn't hers, and if something happened to her, it would be all their fault.

AN: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I think we are getting close to the end. Please leave a review and tell me how I'm doing!


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Thanks to everyone who left a review, favorited, or followed my last chapter! This is the last chapter also, so thanks to anyone who stuck with this story till the end!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Everything belongs to the creators of Supernatural.

Six minutes after Katherine called Dean, the Impala was screeching into her driveway. The car was quickly turned off, and within seconds, Dean was out of the car and running up the front walk to the door.

Dean raised a fist and pounded on the heavy wooden door several times. "Mrs. Warren!" he called. "Ms. Warren, it's Agent Walsh!"

A light shuffling noise could be heard from coming within the house. The doorknob turned slowly and Katherine Warren's face peered through the crack in the door. As she recognized Dean, her face lit up with happiness and the door came open the rest of the way. "Agent Walsh," she said and quickly ushered both men in. Right when Sam and Dean entered the house, they knew exactly what Katherine had been talking about. The heavy feeling of being watched was immediately sensed by the brothers.

Katherine must have seen as the brothers tensed when they walked into the house. She hurried to close the door and pulled her faded yellow shawl closer around her shoulders. Her eyes were wide with fear as she looked up at Dean. "You feel it too, don't you?"

Seeing no point in lying to the woman, Dean nodded quickly. Sam watched as Dean slowly pulled the duffle that he had snagged from the backseat of the car off his shoulder. He set it down on the flower-print armchair and looked at Ms. Warren. Sam had seen the look that was in Dean's eyes now only a handful of times. The bright green eyes looked pleading and held a certain degree of urgency and panic. Dean then started to speak in a voice that he usually reserved for frightened children.

"Ms. Warren, do you trust me?"

The nod that followed was given without hesitation. Sam was once again blown away in his older brother's ability to instill a sense of safety and trust in him into complete strangers. In times of panic and fear, people that had never seen him before followed Dean's lead without question. It was a trait that Sam didn't have and would forever envy.

"Alright," Dean started to unzip the duffle. "Then whatever happens next, I need you to listen to me and do exactly as I say. Your safety depends on it, okay?"

Once again, Ms. Warren nodded, a little slower this time but it was definitely there. Dean waited until he saw Katherine nod again, and then pulled out the first shotgun loaded with rock salt. He held it out for Sam to grab, which he did, and grabbed the next one for himself. Both brothers checked the shotguns to make sure they were in working order, and turned to look at Katherine.

Katherine's gaze was trained on the two large weapons. Her eyes glittered with momentary panic, and Sam was suddenly afraid that she was about to call the police on them. However, she seemed to rationalize something, because when she looked back up into Dean's eyes, her eyes were steady. "You aren't from the FBI, are you?" she asked calmly.

"No," Dean admitted. "But we are here to protect you." Without waiting to see Ms. Warren's reaction, Dean turned back to the duffle and brought forth a large canister of salt. Quickly, he opened the container and made a large circle in the middle of the floor. He looked back up at Katherine and reached out a hand. Slowly, she took it and Dean stepped her into the middle of the circle. "I need you to promise me," Dean's intense eyes met Katherine's. "That no matter what happens, you will stay inside this circle until either Sam or I tell you it's okay to leave, okay?"

"I promise," Katherine's voice came out small and trembling.

Dean gave a half smile. "Good." He disappeared into another room for a moment and came back carrying a dining room chair. He set it gently in the middle of the circle. Then, he gestured to Sam. Sam went to follow his older brother, but looked back at Katherine first. She had sat down in the chair and was looking at the doorway Dean had just walked through. Praying that she would be alright, Sam joined his brother.

Dean was standing in the middle of the room, his eyes wandering over every inch of it in search of a threat, when Sam got there. "Okay, so we need to find this thing and get rid of it as soon as possible," Dean stated. "And we need to keep an eye on Ms. Warren so that Peter doesn't come after her while we're looking for the locket."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Why didn't you just ask her where the locket was?" he asked.

"She's already freaked out enough. If we start asking about her jewelry as we're waving around weapons, she might think we are trying to rob her," Dean explained.

Unable to argue brother's logic, Sam nodded. He was just about to ask Dean how they were going to go about searching the house when a blood-curdling scream pierced the air from the other room. In a blink of an eye, Dean was through the doorway and back to the room that Katherine was in. Sam was quick to follow him.

Katherine was still standing in the middle of the circle, her eyes wide with fear and locked onto the figure across from her. Standing just on the edge of the salt circle was Peter McArthy. He was still clad in the dark coat that he died in, his stringy hair and long beard a tribute to the lack of care before his death. The two bullet holes that decorated his chest were still seeping with blood. A twisted grin pulled itself across his face as he stared at the woman in the circle.

"P-peter?" Ms. Warren's small voice could barely be heard.

 _Mother._ The voice could be heard like a whisper in the wind. The curtains on the windows began to whip and the hanging light above them started to sway. _Did you think I would forget? You left me to the mercy of these town people! You wouldn't even claim your own son!_ Lights started to flicker.

A sob was wrenched for Katherine's throat. "I'm sorry!"

The sick smile on Peter's face widened. _No you aren't._ He lifted one hand. _But you will be._

Before Peter could do whatever he planned on doing, Dean's loud voice interrupted him. "Hey! Remember me?" The sound of a shotgun being cocked punctuated the question.

Peter whipped around. The spirit's eyes narrowed as he saw Dean. _You._

Dean smiled. "Yeah it's me, you son-of-a-bitch. Ready for round two?"

All thoughts of his mother seemed to fly from Peter's head at Dean's taunting. In an instant, Peter had left the edge of the salt circle and came to stand in front of his brother. Without hesitation, Dean pulled the trigger, scattering Peter into oblivion. But it wouldn't last long and they both knew it.

Dean looked up at Sam. "Find the locket. I'll keep old Pete away from Katherine."

Instinctively, Sam wanted to buck against the order. Old anger for his dad came bubbling up to the surface, threatening to spill over. That coupled with the fact that Dean was once again putting himself in the line of fire, while already injured, made it very difficult for Sam to force his feet to carry him from the room.

Sam decided that the first place he should look was Katherine's bedroom. A part of Sam felt like blushing at the intrusion of privacy, but the lives of at least two people depended on him finding that locket.

Katherine's bedroom was at the top of the stairs. The door was wide open, which left Sam feeling a little less guilty, and he walked in. The room was simple. A bed, a nightstand with a lamp, a closet, and a dresser were the only things decorating the space. On top of the dresser was a cluttered mess. Sam's heart sank as he saw several jewelry boxes on the dresser, any which could hold the locket.

Before Sam could let the feeling of hopelessness settle too far in his mind, a loud crashing came from downstairs. Dealing with supernatural beings that liked to throw things since an early age, it was easy for Sam to identify the sound as a body being thrown into something hard. Knowing that Dean wouldn't have let Peter harm Katherine as long as he was breathing, it could only mean it was his brother being pounded on. Again.

Abandoning any shyness, Sam quickly started ripping open the jewelry boxes. In the back of his mind, he hoped that Katherine would understand the necessary carelessness after everything was over. After he had opened the last box, his anxiety multiplied. The locket was nowhere in sight. However, this didn't even come close to scaring him as when he noticed the thudding downstairs had stopped.

In an instant, Sam's long legs were propelling him downstairs. Frantic thoughts ripped through his mind. What had happened down there? At least as long as Dean was getting tossed around, Sam had known he was alive. This silence terrified him.

He made it downstairs in record time. A quick scan told Sam that Dean nor the ghost was anywhere in the immediate vicinity of the stairs. There was evidence of a fight, though. Shattered vases and even large dents in the walls attributed to the battle. Sam followed the trail of destruction into the room where Katherine was.

When he entered, Sam felt his heart stop. Katherine wasn't in the room, and neither was Dean. Panic clouded his thoughts as he continued following the damage to the kitchen, terrified of finding the broken body of his brother at the end. The scene in the kitchen surprised him.

Katherine was crouched on the floor, staring intently at the floor. Sam's heart dropped somewhere around his feet when he realized she was looking at Dean. "Dean!" he called, racing to kneel next to Katherine. "Dean!"

His older brother groaned. "Jesus, man. Give a guy a second would you?" Stiffly, Dean sat up. Dean's right arm curled tightly around his ribs. "Damn. That guy packs one hell of a punch."

Hearing such a "Dean" answer come from his brother immediately soothed his worry. Sam placed a steadying hand on Dean's shoulder. "What happened to you?"

"Well," Dean glanced over at Katherine. "Peter went after me when you went upstairs. We ended up in the kitchen," Sam's eyes narrowed as he realized Dean was omitting parts of the story, but let him continue. "And he had me pinned down in the kitchen. Then, he was just gone."

Sam was confused at the abrupt ending of the story. "Just like that?"

Dean looked at Kathrine again. "He might have had some help in getting gone."

His eyes widened as he looked at the woman next to Dean. "You?"

She nodded timidly. "I-I could hear Dean fighting-" she paused and her breath hitched with a sob. "Fighting with Peter." Sam sympathized with the dazed quality to her voice. An hour ago, she probably would have called the cops on anyone who had even played with the notion that her serial killer son could come back from the grave and try to harm her. Now, she was sitting next to two men who had come into her home armed with guns filled with rock salt, stood in a salt circle across from her dead son, and apparently helped get rid of that dead son, at least momentarily. It was understandable if she was slightly shaken. "I wanted to help," she started again, a defiant tone now creeping into her voice, as if daring Sam to question her about disobeying their orders. "I noticed that Peter couldn't seem to cross the salt earlier, so I picked some up and followed them into the kitchen." She barely stumbled over Peter's name this time. "I saw Dean getting beat up and threw the salt at Peter. Then, he just, disappeared."

The end of Katherine's story brought Sam jolting back into reality. Sure, salt dispelled spirits, but it wasn't permanent. Finding the locket became the priority again. He had to find it before Peter came back to tangle with Dean for a round three, and this time Dean wouldn't have had several days rest in between.

"Katherine," Sam looked at her with his most convincing 'I'm trying to be calm right now but this is important' face. "I need you to tell me something. Did you reclaim a locket that was found in an alley about two years ago?"

Ms. Warren's eyes got very wide, and her hand reached to grasp at something around her neck. Gently, she brought forth a small, silver locket from within the folds of her clothing. "You mean this one?" she asked softly.

Relief dawned over Sam at the sight of the small piece of jewelry. Trying to decide a way to break it to Ms. Warren that they had to burn the locket that obviously held value for her, Sam slowly reached for the chain. However, something caught the corner of his eye from the end of the room. Peter was flickering back into existence, and he looked pissed.

"Sam!" Dean's frantic voice pierced the delicate silence, not unlike Sam had a few minutes previously. Sam looked back at his brother who was casting around the floor, obviously looking for the shotgun. But before Dean could grasp the life-saving weapon, Peter was on him again. This time, Peter had no intention of playing with his prey before-hand. No, this time, Peter had gone straight for the neck. He tightened his grip on Dean's throat, slowly but surely killing him. Peter grinned. _Die._

With no regard for what Katherine thought, but sending up a silent apology, he ripped the necklace from her hand. He ran over to the sink, pulling out the small canister of salt and lighter fluid both brothers kept on them at all times now. The necklace was thrown in the sink and quickly doused with salt and lighter fluid. Sam fumbled through his jacket pockets, searching for the elusive lighter, cursing as he was acutely aware that every second he couldn't find it was a second of Dean's life squeezed away. Finally, Sam's hand curled around the small silver lighter. He could have cried out of relief, but instead, he flipped open the top, watched as the flame sparked to life, and threw it down on the locket. The necklace went up like kindling, and Sam watched in fascinated horror as he contemplated how important fire had been in his life.

An agonized scream marked Peter's passing from this world and effectively pulled Sam from his thoughts. His legs started moving on their own, his body craving contact with his older brother. However, his mind and heart cried in protest, knowing that what he found might completely tear his world apart.

Dean lay still in the middle of the floor. Eerily still. Once again, Sam's heart clenched painfully and his mind screamed. _Just walk away!_ it seemed to say. _If you don't see it then it isn't real!_ But Sam's body refused to listen. Sam watched as his hand reached for his brother's still body, heard as his voice said, with all the fragility of a lost child, "Dean?"

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

"And you're sure you're okay?" came Katherine's voice, still strained from the afternoon she'd been through.

Sam nodded wearily. "Yeah, we're okay." His right hand was gently settling his older brother, who was listing slightly into his side, arm curled tightly around his ribs.

Katherine smiled slightly. "Good," she said. "And-thanks again." Sam just nodded and gently led Dean out the front door. It took some maneuvering, but Sam managed to get Dean settled into the Impala's passenger seat. He then slipped around to the other side and fired up the engine. The car backed slowly out of the drive, and Sam waved to Katherine as they pulled away.

"I'm glad she understood about the locket," Sam said absently. He felt kind of bad about that, but if he hadn't done it, Dean would be dead. Dean merely grunted in agreement. "Need a hospital man?" Sam asked, slightly worried at Dean's lack of communication. Maybe the concussion was worse than a 'sleep-it-off' kind of thing, or maybe the ribs were actually broken instead of just cracked like Dean claimed.

"Nah," Dean mumbled. "Just a week of sleep." With that, Dean tucked himself closer into the side panel of the Impala, eyes closing.

"Hey," Sam said, pushing Dean slightly. "Don't fall asleep yet. I don't want to have to haul your heavy ass into the motel. Dean moaned softly but sat himself more upright again.

They pulled into the motel. Sam walked over to the other side and helped Dean get back out. Just as Dean had managed a standing position, the sky opened up above them and rain started to fall. "Shit," Sam muttered, knowing they couldn't move at more than a fast shuffle. Resigning to getting soaked, Sam moved Dean so they could start walking to the room. When they were about halfway there, Dean started to chuckle. "Is there-" Sam panted, "something you-find funny in-this situation?"

Dean just snorted. "Just our freaking Winchester luck, Sammy."

Sam couldn't help but agree.

When they finally made it to the room, Dean all but collapsed onto his bed. He groaned miserably at the pressure the position put on his ribs but he didn't seem at all inclined to move. After ten minutes, Sam had gotten cleaned up and checked on Dean. His older brother seemed to have almost fallen asleep, his eyes almost all the way closed. Sam smiled, Dean would be just fine. Sam laid down in his own bed and listened to the sound of Dean breathing, letting it comfort him in the fact that Dean was still alive to fight another day. Just as Sam was on the brink of unconsciousness himself, a sneeze penetrated the silence. Dean let out a moan and a quiet "dammit" slipped out from under his breath. Sam couldn't stop a small laugh from escaping. "How're you feeling Dean?"

"Just peachy."

AN: So that's the end! I hope I ended it well enough to wrap up all the ends! Please review and let me know what you thought!


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